Disconnect.
He grimaced and moved out from around the desk, toward the java pot. Sha hated that word. Hated its implied weakness. Yet he had not gained such heights without knowing when to pull back. When to disengage. Though secondary plans were in place, with all three of his primary plans in trouble, he must accept the fact he might have to pull back. Might have to wait longer before seizing destiny for Spina Khanate.
Underneath the java pot, a small incinerator waited for its daily feeding of pulp and information too dangerous to leave in the light of day.
As he fed all three papers into the machine, Sha counted assets in his head. Tallied how many people knew about his encounter with the Jade Falcons. Balanced on scales the needs of his personnel and their future contributions to the welfare of the Aimag against the repercussions of discovery; he had purposely kept the numbers stripped low, not just to minimize leakage, but just in case such actions were needed.
Of course he would still move forward. Of course he would still move to seize the day; not all was yet lost. However, it was important to hedge your bets in every direction.
Time to clean house.
21
Merchant House, Halifax
Vanderfox, Adhafera
Prefecture VII, The Republic
29 August 3134
For once, Petr’s disgust at the Merchant House centered on something other than the vile stench still troubling him—especially after so many long weeks in the blissfully clean-scrubbed air of the Ocean of Stars.
“What would you have me do?” Tidinic said, his voice pitched to easily cut through the continual hubbub of the giant edifice. The master trader sat across from him; others occupied the large table, but only the two of them mattered. Clean lines to his suit. Well-tailored, but not extravagant. Long, chocolate-colored hair cascaded from a widow’s peak to the suit’s shoulders. Large eyes hung under craggy, bushy brows like bird eggs hidden from predators just under the cliff’s precipice; eyes mimicked such fragility, but Petr saw the raptor within.
Petr shifted, felt the pull of gravity, the pull of the situation. Tried to forget the angry looks from his factors when he returned and thrust himself to the forefront of the negotiations, never mind his right to do so. Tried to forget his weeks of wasted effort with saKhan Sennet.
His failure against Sha. Again.
“Master Trader,” he began, layering in respect without drowning it in sycophancy, “I would have us come to some accord. I understand you are hard pressed to meet our demands, as we are yours.”
Tidinic nodded his head, though it felt more like a merchant prince accepting pronouncements at his court—decrees he scripted to be read by Petr. Petr kept his temper, banking the hot coals of rage for later use.
“I also understand and appreciate the hardships you and your fellow citizens have suffered following the collapse of the HPG. Nevertheless, it is time to make a decision. You have two offers before you.”
They had tried ignoring Beta Aimag, to no avail. Perhaps finally recognizing the competition and actively trying to push the locals to a decision would move them one way or another.
Frustrations gnawing at him, he felt as if he were on an EVA, with low oxygen; no matter how deep he breathed, he could not get enough air (he didn’t want this air anyway). Felt he needed to make something happen.
Though he’d conducted negotiations that took longer, it did not happen often. More important, he’d never carried out such strenuous negotiations as a backdrop against so many other issues swirling around him, creating a mental and physical dervish that threatened to sweep him away.
The image of the pugnacious and repulsive Snow reared its head. He had to deal with that wild card as well. The new data cube, waiting on his desk when he returned, now burned like a hot coal against his leg. Once more she had deposited it where she should not be, and he knew it meant trouble.
As he had stared at the small cube crouching on his desk like a slumbering terror waiting to feast on his mind, he’d realized he had not done a single thing to further investigate her claims of a Marik-Stewart invasion. Though he should not have cared, a surreal feeling crawled across his shorn scalp, prickling scar tissue like a brisk wind. He could not put a finger on it, but he suspected that she could cause him problems. Make his life difficult. Yet if he aided her, her gratitude could be . . . generous. He should’ve dismissed such musings as stress-induced mania, but he could not. Could not forget the smoky eyes and the gleam within. He’d seen power too many times, despite the unattractive package, not to recognize it.
Aff, she would cause him no end of troubles if he did not find a way to use her in return.
“ovKhan.” The sound snapped him back to the present like an emergency safety line wrenching him in from an EVA gone bad. He saw that Tidinic’s face held a speculative look, while the other traders at the table variously showed surprise, disgust and outright hostility; he didn’t want to see his own Fox Clansmen’s expressions at such a lapse.
Petr leaned back, felt the stink of the pens as a physical pressure around him (ignored the lowing, which sat in the lower part of his brain as a vibrating tumor) and steepled his fingers, tried to gain back the initiative he might have just lost. Then again, at this point, he simply wanted resolution on some front, any front. Even if that meant giving something up. At least for now.
He cleared his throat, refused to acknowledge his distraction, continued. “Master Tidinic, you have two offers on the table. Though we wish to aid you, in fact would find great honor in it, The Republic holds numerous worlds in need of our aid as well.”
“I’m sure they will all welcome it with open arms, ovKhan Kalasa.” Petr sloughed off the sarcasm—oil on water.
“Aff. I am confident of that as well, Master Tidinic. However, to bring such aid to those who need it, we need a resolution here. The exportation of your foodstuffs will aid many worlds, not to mention your own. What accord can we reach?”
Almost completely motionless for a half hour, the portly man finally shifted, leaning forward slightly, placing his right hand on the table. “ovKhan Kalasa, I have felt for some time we have been making great progress in reaching a mutually beneficial agreement. I have gone over the respective contracts numerous times and it would appear we are almost of one mind concerning what needs to be given . . . and taken, for an agreement to be signed.”
He nodded to one of the myriad trader aides at his side and the man produced a document that he laid carefully upon the table, then slid delicately into the middle. The sudden silence at the table as the papers slowly wisped across wood reminded Petr of religious offering ceremonies he’d seen on several spheroid worlds.
Petr raked his eyes across it for a moment, before glancing back up. “Is this the agreement we have worked on most recently?” he asked, knowing full well it wasn’t.
“Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Could you perhaps be a little more specific?” Time to crank up his sarcasm dial.
“There has been a complication.”
“Again.”
The man shrugged, as though to apologize; the raptor gaze never faltered. “A new JumpShip has entered the system.”
Petr barely managed not to glare at his own people for not yet having this information. Petr spoke from a suddenly dry throat. “And what does this have to do with our ongoing negotiation?”
“It seems this ship is also a trading vessel.” Again, the insincere shrug. “However, it appears they are not of your Clan, but an Inner Sphere concern.” He leaned back once more; Petr felt the man might stretch and snuggle into his chair like a space cat: warm, content and filled with the knowledge he held the upper hand.
“As I would hate to allow this new concern to horn in on a business deal we have all worked so hard to cement, I have suggested two last-minute changes, which I humbly submit for your final review. With your stamp of approval, I can have a contract drafted and on your desk by tomorrow for your signature, days before th
e JumpShip could possibly set people on the ground to disrupt.”
Petr felt the rage growing, but pushed it aside. Nodded once, thoughtfully, at the adept move.
On my desk, and Sha’s as well, waiting to see who bites.
Though angry, he had to give the man his due. He managed to gain information before either Delta or Beta Aimag and made the most of it, holding it over them like a raised ’Mech foot, ready to smash them if they did not acquiesce.
Reaching forward, he picked up the page, and quickly read through it. Just as he thought. An additional half percentage point on gross and a year less on the absolute contract rights. Completely unacceptable.
Opening his mouth to respond, Petr caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he saw Sha, along with a small Beta cadre, moving toward their table. One look told him they knew of the arriving JumpShip, knew of their current negotiations and had come posthaste.
Though the animosity between the two of them had grown to spectacular levels, they still shared the same Khanate. The same Clan. In the end, though both would chew off their own tongues before admitting as much, they would rather see the other gain victory here than to miss the opportunity entirely, or worse yet, allow a Republic trading concern to sink their greedy talons into it.
The two ovKhans seemed to telegraph their thoughts across the closing distance. In one of the few moments when Sha and Petr absolutely agreed, the time had come for a distinctly Clan resolution to this conundrum.
Returning his attention to Master Tidinic, he allowed a smile to bloom on his face, mirth to widen his eyes. The sudden jerk in his raptor gaze told Petr the man went from total control to doubt in a heartbeat. It only fueled the smile larger.
“Master Tidinic,” Petr said, “Beta and Delta Aimags must reach our own resolution to this problem before one of us again sits at this table to discuss your proposal. Please excuse me for a handful of minutes.”
Though he tried to hide it, Tidinic floundered; the other traders could not disguise their confusion.
Standing up, Petr turned toward Sha and his own cadre moved away from the table to meet the arriving Betas. He should have been angry at this development, but he actually felt as though a load had been lifted. He stretched his tired back and neck muscles, felt the pull of strong tendons and muscles all across his body, his right shoulder hardly twinging; he breathed in deeply and, for the first time he could remember, didn’t mind the stench.
Resolution. If only of one thing, resolution nevertheless.
“ovKhan Kalasa,” Sha said, nodding his head slightly.
Though his rival showed no more emotion than usual, Petr thought he detected a look of relief in those too-chill eyes.
He needs this resolution as much as I. For a moment, Petr pondered that thought. Is it just this deal? Doesn’t seem possible. Can his larger plans have problems? No way of knowing, but Petr smiled larger regardless. Even the possibility buoyed him.
“ovKhan Clarke, I see you are aware of the new arrival.”
“Aff. And it changes our circumstances. I believe we are of a mind.”
“Aff, ovKhan. It is time we determine who shall seat themselves again with Master Tidinic and who shall concede defeat.”
“Aff. I name Bel,” he answered, indicating a mammoth elemental, who moved forward with the lethal grace and contained fury of a sphinx raptor.
Petr nodded. “I name Calson.” Petr looked over his shoulder as another elemental stepped forward, matching Bel grace for grace. Lethality for lethality. Their eyes met and Petr nodded once. Acknowledgment, blessing.
Petr looked back and at Sha. “Bargained well and done.”
“Seyla,” the small assembly of warriors spoke. Though short and abbreviated from the usual forms for a Trial of Possession, there was precedence; in the heat of the deal, customs can and will be . . . massaged.
The remaining Clan warriors, including Petr and Sha, immediately began to form a Circle of Equals roughly fifteen meters across, pushing aside spheroids and moving tables. Petr could see the trader group milling about in confusion, while a few chose to try and close the distance. To investigate. Some bovine wranglers moved closer, curiosity overcoming their better sense to stay out of Clan matters.
Petr turned and ignored them all. Down to Clan business now.
Even through his boots, Petr could feel the solid concrete underneath the thin, dirty layer of straw. He tapped his foot twice, felt the smack of his flesh against the unyielding surface even through the soles of his boot.
Hard, very hard. Unyielding. No forgiveness for hard landings here; likely a quick battle.
The two superlative warriors did not waste time with words, nor move into the dance Petr had seen many combatants (especially spheroids) ascribe to. Instead, like two enraged ghost bears, the two launched forward, slamming platter-sized hands at each other’s necks and midriffs in a series of blows and counterblows, which looked as though they could dent ’Mech armor.
Neither warrior landed a serious blow or managed to grasp the other in a lasting hold and they broke apart, this time to slouch into lower, more balanced stances as they began to circle each other slowly.
If you do not succeed, try, try again. The spheroid children’s fable moral sprang to mind and Petr’s smile continued.
A burst of babble slightly behind him and off to his right momentarily pulled his attention; his smile creased his face with deep lines (he’d not smiled so often in long, long weeks) as he saw the fear on the faces of the local merchants. For long weeks the spheroids had blinded themselves to the nature of the traders in their midst, believing them basically the same as themselves.
Now the differences sang among the rafters of the Merchant House and the brutality of it, the force of it, sent them running scared. Would make them doubt themselves. Push them back off their guard, when either he or Sha sat down at the table in victory.
He turned back to find Calson in the midst of a stunning flying kick. The man had to be at least 2.5 meters tall and yet he knew the warrior would easily clear his own height.
The shin-high, tight-fitting boot swept through the air occupied a moment before by Bel’s head; the impact might have decapitated a lesser man. Bel, however, had no intention of losing his head so quickly. Ducking under the full bulk of Calson, he twisted his body down and back up to the right, latching fingers as strong as manacles on to the legs of his opponent as quick as a cloud cobra strike and continuing to twist. Using the forward momentum and Calson’s own mass, Bel further twisted his body and yanked forward, bending and crouching down quickly. With the kicking leg practically lashed over his right shoulder and Calson already committed to the move, the man jackknifed forward, straight into the concrete.
Petr winced at the smacking-meat sound—a little too much like the occasional side of beef that came loose from its hook in the Merchant House during transport from one section to the next. Actually felt the tremble through the ground.
However, genetically engineered warriors could not be removed from the field of battle so easily. Calson had gotten both arms in front of him, and used them to bleed off some of his own velocity; he still smacked his face hard, as straight-arming such a fall would’ve snapped even elemental arms. Calson rolled four times in rapid succession, tearing lose his leg and putting a little distance between him and Bel. He spun to a low crouch; a shattered nose and pulped lips cascaded blood down his chin and onto his neck and shirt. A slow grin showed loose teeth, but blazed with the attitude prized by any Clansmen.
Pain? Bring it on.
Another flurry of babbles from behind him exploded and Petr grunted in satisfaction, confident they saw the bloody, ghastly grin and trembled. Even if Calson lost, Petr would ensure he would not pay for it with any diminished honor; the fear and confusion gripping the local merchants was sufficient payment for a defeat on Calson’s part.
Sliding forward smoothly, Bel feinted left. Then dodged right. Then back one more time, before snapping a knee-
capping kick forward, accompanied by an eye-and-chest strike. Calson stood as a malachite statue, unwilling to give into Bel’s dance of death, and only moved when the knee-capper flew; sliding backward a half step with that leg, blocking blows with brutal efficiency and then swinging that same leg back up and around with terrible force.
Catching Bel slightly off guard, the thrust slammed the other warrior’s legs together, knocking him off balance for a half second.
Which is all a trained killer needs.
Like an aerospace fighter from a launch bay, Calson struck, raining savage blows and side cuts across Bel’s head. The elemental windmilled both arms to maintain balance, to drop at the feet of his opponent meant almost certain defeat. As the blows continued, Bel finally got his feet steady once more, but took almost five steps to do it. Near the edge of the Circle, Calson reared back and pounded both fists into Bel’s chest, sending the elemental staggering.
Whether through sheer dumb luck, or some preternatural ability that allowed Bel to literally sense the edge of the Circle, he dropped to the ground like a sack of flesh to stop his backward movement.
Breaching the Circle meant defeat.
Sensing victory, Calson launched forward and Petr flinched; perhaps the head slam had affected the elemental more than he knew. This was a classic error.
As Calson launched forward, Bel reached up to lock his hands in a death grip on Calson’s arms, forcing his opponent to do the same. Then Bel rocked backward as he planted his feet firmly in Calson’s abdomen. Physics did the rest, as Calson sailed out of the Circle and into defeat.
Beta Aimag would be sitting at the table for Adhafera. Once more, the feeling almost unnatural after so long, Petr’s lips twisted upwards in a smile.
Beta Aimag wins for today . . . and Master Tidinic will quickly realize he should have taken my previous generous offer.
Hunters of the Deep Page 15
